we've got fire in our veins
by FantasyDeath
Summary: After Zuko is banished from the Fire Nation, he accidentally starts a rebellion. (AU, Slash)
1. Chapter 1

**we've got fire in our veins**

**Summary: **After Zuko is banished from the Fire Nation, he accidently starts a rebellion.

**(WARNING! Slash, Sporadic Updates, AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Starts Pre-Canon)**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Shoes for three pieces of copper! Come buy shoes for three pieces of copper!"

"Sir, would you be interested in seeing a theater production of the—?"

"We have clothes in all shapes and sizes! Come right in!"

"Fresh fruit for bargain prices! It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

An cacophony of voices rose above the marketplace of the village, as people bartered and tried to lure in customers. Zuko had to constantly resist the urge to turn his head to the left, in order to see what the bandage over his eye was covering. Who knew if there were enemies here, just waiting for a chance to take him out and they'd succeed just because he couldn't _see_ them?

"Calm down, nephew." Iroh remarked form his left side, a hand on Zuko's back to help guide him, lest he walk into something and embarrasses himself. "You have nothing to worry about. If someone attacks, just kick them between the legs."

"Uncle!"

Iroh chuckled and steered him to the side. "Now, now, don't look so horrified, nephew, it's a perfectly valid attack."

Zuko grit his teeth. "It's cowardice!"

"No attack or defense is cowardice, it's just another way to survive the battlefield." Iroh sounded disturbingly happy talking about it as he continued, "And though you may think an attack like this works only on men, it works quite well on women too!"

"Uncle, do you mean you—?"

"Why, yes, once when I was young and misguided and leading a squad of soldiers, an earthbender took me completely by surprise and it was only through my quick wits—"

"Stop talking! I don't want to hear it!" Zuko sped up in attempt to get away from the crazy old man calling himself his uncle, but alas, Iroh just sped up as well.

Zuko grunted when Iroh's heavy arm fell over his shoulders, feeling his knees almost folding beneath him. Iroh genially said, "It's nothing to be ashamed of! She was quite a beautiful young woman you know, had scars on most of her visible body. A worthy opponent."

Zuko felt a shiver of pure disgust blow through him and it must have showed on his face too, because Iroh burst out laughing beside him. Zuko scowled, a curse on the tip of his tongue and ready to shrug his uncle's arm off of him. Instead he said, "I'm sure she must have been a tough adversary, considering your looks never recovered."

"Oh, ho ho~!" Iroh's arm squeezed him tighter, and they turned another corner, bringing them away from the center of the market. "You're breaking my heart, nephew."

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Yes, you might just not survive it, old man."

"How cruel of you, nephew! I'm only fifty-two years old!"

"_Right_. I believe you, uncle."

"I am! Tell him, Lieutenant Jee!" Iroh demanded, his voice so pathetic nobody would ever believe that this was the famed Dragon of the West.

"Yes." Lieutenant Jee, who was on the other side of Zuko, sounded as serious as he always did. "He is only... fifty-two years old."

Not a word of it sounded believe, said as it was in a completely monotone voice. Zuko rolled his eyes and asked his uncle, "How far?"

To his credit, Iroh didn't waste time asking what he meant, but answered, "Just a few more minutes. We're almost there now, nephew."

"And why do I have to come along?" Zuko scowled, hating the way that he sounded so whiny and ungrateful, but not knowing how to change it.

"Well, a healer needs to take a look at you, at how the wound is healing, and we need more medicine. And we can't very well have the healer come aboard the ship, now can we?" Iroh mused, his gentle tone soothing Zuko's ire as f it were water.

Zuko didn't say anything, and soon they finally arrived at their destination.

The village they were in wasn't actually a village, he knew, it just seemed like it in comparison to how _big_ the Fire Nation Capital was. This was a pretty decent sized town, on the very outskirts of the Fire Nation, and more importantly, it contained a healer that Iroh seemed to consider in high regard. Zuko knew that that meant that this healer was actually _skilled_ and she would probably be able to do much more for him than what just Iroh's field medicine could do. That said, he had been dragged off the ship at five in the morning because they couldn't dock too close to the town, _and_ _he was not happy about it._

Only uncle Iroh and lieutenant Jee went with him on this trip to see the mystery healer, despite the fact that they had deliberately added five days to their journey out of Fire Nation waters in order to come here. They were careful to go incognito, so all three of them were dressed in civilian clothes, and Zuko's hair had been let out of its tail in order to give him a younger look.

Personally, he couldn't tell the difference, as there was still a giant burn on his face covered by eye-catching bandages that couldn't be hidden, but Iroh had deemed it acceptable.

The house that they finally stopped in front of didn't look like a healer's office. It was small, only a single floor, and was away from any major streets. It seemed almost hidden, actually, where the entrance was for some reason in an alleyway. Zuko frowned and then hissed when it pulled at something in the wound, but it was only a passing pain. To be honest, he couldn't really feel anything at all from the forming scar-tissue.

Iroh knocked on the wooden door three times in quick succession. While Zuko scowled to make his displeasure known, the door opened. The man behind it looked terrifying. Zuko's brow furrowed in confusion, because the man was heavily muscled and taller than Iroh, a rough beard on his face that was only starting to grey.

"Iroh!" the man burst into a sunny smile, and Zuko stepped back on principle.

Iroh opened his arms wide and cried, "Enkou!"

As Zuko watched on with stunned eyes and his mouth gaping open, Iroh was gathered up in Enkou's arms and spun around in a circle, as if he didn't weigh a thing. He scowled harder, and pressed his lips together harshly. By his side, Lieutenant Jee said, "I wasn't aware General Iroh knew this man so well. It will be of help."

Zuko said nothing.

Finally, the two let go of each other and Enkou stepped back. Iroh waved at Zuko and involuntarily, Zuko walked into the house, expecting it to look like a mess. In spite of his expectations, the inside of the house was hardly cluttered with anything at all. There was a an open doorway that lead into the right side of the house, and a closed one that lead left. Enkou lead the way to the right side, where he splayed out his hands as if he to say "Behold!". Zuko stalked into it and found himself standing in a far more modern healer's den than he had expected.

Enkou's gruff voice sounded from behind him, "Sit down, boy, sit down."

Zuko did as he said, sitting down on a bed in the corner of the room. He stared with challenging eyes at Enkou. "Where is the healer?"

"HAHAHA!" Enkou burst out into loud laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. He sounded genuinely amused as he answered, "I am, boy! The great Enkou shall heal you!"

He continued laughing for a whole minute. Zuko counted.

Scowling, Zuko looked over to his uncle for help. Iroh just stared at him with an amused expression on his face, while Jee stood by his uncle's side with his arms crossed. Zuko was clearly not getting any support from there.

He sighed. "Get started, will you."

"Good, good!" Enkou's voice boomed through the building. Zuko was surprised that they hadn't heard him before they entered. "You are prepared!"

Enkou unwound the bandages around his head and the large pressing against his eye. Zuko squinted a little at how uncomfortable they were, and kept his wounded eye shut. Enkou leaned in closer, and from the corner of his right eye Zuko could vaguely see that he looked serious. No more of that obnoxious smile, which at least meant that he had a professional attitude about his job. That was _something_, at least.

"It's not infected." Enkou finally declared.

Zuko heard his uncle breathe out in a large gust of wind, and he clenched his hands tightly. He had made such a mess of things for Iroh, and now his uncle was _here_, about to go into exile along with Zuko voluntarily, and still he sounded so relieved. It made Zuko feel wretched inside, like a stone sat in the pit of his stomach, to know what a burden he was to his uncle.

Enkou patted him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get you the ointment I've prepared. You need to put in on the burn three times a day."

"How long?" Iroh asked.

Enkou stood up straight. "I'd say at least six months, if not more. Come back then and I'll take another look at it."

Iroh sighed, and Zuko looked over at his uncle. He looked tired, where he stood with his head bent and his shoulders slouching.

"I wish there was more I could do, old friend." Enkou put a comforting hand on Iroh's shoulder.

Iroh shook his head. "You've done more than enough."

"No, I haven't." Enkou smiled brightly. "But I've taken the liberty of gathering more bandages and dressings for the wound for you!"

Enkou went on over to another corner of the room, and opened up a large trunk. "See?" he asked with his chest puffed out. "This is more than enough to last you six months!"

Iroh's eyes widened and he said somberly, "Thank you, old friend."

Enkou smiled back, and Zuko thought there was something passing between them that he wasn't privy to. Then Enkou grabbed a tray from the desk at the center of the room and walked back over to Zuko. As he approached, Zuko could see that the tray was loaded with medical supplies—a glass jar that he guessed contained the aforementioned ointment and a whole bunch of clean bandages.

Zuko kept his head as still as the man first spread the ointment with gentle hands all over the burn, and then put the dressing and bandages on. Finally, he secured the bandages with a small clasp at the back of his head, so they wouldn't accidentally fall off.

"There we go." Enkou smiled at him, kindlier than his appearance would suggest. "All done! You can get up now!"

Zuko jumped off the bed and only stumbled for a quick second before he rightened himself. He still wasn't used to seeing out of only one eye. There was a lack of depth that meant that he often walked into things or tripped over uneven grounds. Still, he was determined that he would master it.

He walked over to his uncle and stood next to him. Meanwhile, Jee gathered up the chest with a single heave and prepared to leave with them. Iron handed over some money to Enkou and while Zuko lingered in the doorway, he saw them whispering to each other. They were too far away and being too quiet for him to hear them, though. Still, from the way that they stole glances at him, he guessed that it was him that they were whispering so secretly about.

As they left, Iroh gave Enkou one last hug and a tearful, "Till next time, old friend!"

Zuko was sure that the sappiness was just played up to get his mind off of other, more sinister, things.

That didn't mean that it wasn't effective.

Scowling again at the thoughts his mind was full of, Zuko pressed a hand over the bandages. He couldn't feel anything of it, not the pressure of his hand, not the pain that should be the result of such or the shape of his hand. It was as if he had lost sensation in the whole area, which was not something that he had ever known could be a consequence of scarring before.

They walked back through the market in order to return to their ship. It was the fastest way, and none of them wanted to be stuck here longer than necessary.

Father hadn't been shy about what would happen if they didn't leave Fire Nation waters in time.

On the way back through the market, Zuko relaxed a little, just the tiniest bit, as nothing happened. They had gotten their wares and been giving a medical opinion by a professional, which meant that uncle could finally stop worrying so much. Zuko felt his shoulders relaxing just a little bit from how tightly wound they had been ever since he had stepped off the ship this morning, and he permitted himself to look more closely at the people that they passed by.

At first, he hadn't paid them anymore attention necessary than to determine that they weren't a threat, but now he took the time. They walked with their heads held high, their backs straights and a proud bearing in their shoulders. Yet, they also constantly looked around themselves, as if they didn't trust the people they were living next to. They talked and smiled, but they never really laughed. They played games and held contests, but Zuko never saw anyone win. The children ran wild on the streets, but no-one ever complained about them.

They were grimy, their clothes more tattered and worn than he had first seen. The most attention Zuko got wasn't for the wrapping around half his head, but for the clothes he was wearing.

"Uncle, why are they...?" he grimaced when he didn't know what to say next.

Thankfully, Iroh seemed to know what he meant, as he answered, "War affects everybody, Zuko. Even the country that's winning. A one-hundred year long war even more so."

"Oh." Zuko lowered his gaze and fell silent.

He supposed it was stupid of him to think that the Fire Nation was somehow less affected by the war than the other nations. Really, it only made sense that they had. He was always so stupid, never thinking far enough ahead.

He felt uncle's arm get thrown over his shoulders. He grunted, and listened as Iroh stated, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, nephew. I know that that's not Ozai's focus on your lessons."

Zuko didn't respond.

He tore himself out from under uncle's arm and stalked ahead, a glare forming on his face. He didn't want to think about his father. It hurt enough that he had left Azula behind, he didn't want to think about the pain that father had caused him too—he didn't want to remember the smell of his own flesh burning.

He could feel a ball of rage (a ball of quiet hurts and silent agony) forming in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't be around uncle when he felt like this, as if he was one step away form imploding. He wanted to scream and cry and beg his father _to please, please just take him back. He would be quiet, he would never say another word, never go to another war meeting, just let him go back._

Zuko scowled, his stomach twisting into knots, and ignored the cries of his uncle as he sped away from him and lieutenant Jee. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. He just needed to get away, before he showed his shame to uncle.

Eventually, he stopped his furious walking.

For some reason, he found himself in an alleyway.

Zuko groaned, burrowing his head into his arms, sitting on the ground and leaning against a dirty wall. He wasn't sure how he had gotten here. He wasn't sure where _here_ was. How was he supposed to find his way to the ship now? No, uncle and Jee would be leaving pretty big tracks carrying that large trunk, all he had to do was find where the path was. But how was he supposed to find his way back there? This village looked the same in all directions, a typical outpost. There were no landmarks that he could use, not when the houses were all the same size, the same color, the same _everything_. Even the general layout was the same everywhere.

He grit his teeth again and banged his head back against the wall, shame filling him. He was so stupid! Why would he think that walking away like that would help? He was just going to make uncle more worried about him, and his uncle had finally calmed down a little from the seeing the healer.

Zuko scowled, glaring at him his own hands as he sat up straighter. He could see the tiniest little shakings in them, the tiniest little clues that he wasn't as okay as he wanted his uncle to believe.

He hated it.

Something fell on the ground at the edge of the alley. Zuko looked up sharply, then grimaced when he realized that he couldn't see anything. It was on his blindside. He turned his head and stared at the figure that met his sight.

A girl, filthy and looking no older than ten, stared back at him. She had large brown eyes, a mess of black hair that fell like a mane sound her shoulders, messy and dirty, clumped together with mud and dirt. Her clothes were more worn than he had seen so far in this tiny village, almost every inch of it patched up with different fabric. If someone told him it had been made from a bunch of different clothes and pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle, he would believe them.

She stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. Then she straightened her back and walked a few steps further into the alley. The further in she walked, the better he could see her, and as she approached him, he could see that her entire right arm was a patchwork of scars, burn scars specifically.

"Hello." she said when she was no more than a meter away from him.

Zuko stared back at her. He watched her gulp, he could see the unease in her eyes, yet she stayed stubbornly close. He narrowed his eyes and scowled at her. "Go away."

"Are you new?" she asked, and settled down on the ground with no regard for the dirt. She sat crosslegged and her wide eyes were a dichotomy, full of innocence and wariness at the same time.

Or maybe just innocence. Reading people had never been his strong point.

"Go away." he repeated and turned his face away from her.

He heard her sigh, and then he felt her settle next to him. He felt her shoulder touching his arm, and he didn't move away. Why didn't he move away?

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "My name is Chou. What's yours?"

Zuko kept his mouth shut, his only useful eye left staring at the wall opposite him. He couldn't tell her his actual name. He would never be able to use his actual name for the duration of his exile. In the Fire Nation, it was a oneway ticket to getting his ass handed to him and booted out of the country. In any other place, it was a oneway ticket to prison and probable ransom, unless they decided to just kill him first. Iroh had made sure that he knew how serious the subject was, how he couldn't ever let anyone know his name, especially when he was alone.

"Are you going to stay long?" Chou asked, her voice sounding tired.

Zuko grunted. "No. I'm leaving as soon as possible."

"Okay." he felt her nod against him.

Silence settled over them. Zuko could only take it for a few minutes before he started fidgeting, a need to _do_ something smothering him. And he needed to make it back to the ship, before uncle launched a full-scale assault on the village in the name of finding him. He jostled the girl as he got his feet under him and rose from his seat. He hissed as his legs shivered under him, apparently having fallen asleep.

When he looked back, he could see the girl staring back at him with tired eyes. She frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm finding my ship."

She peered up at him. "Are you going to fight in the war again?"

"I—" he stopped himself. He hadn't fought in the war, so why would she think he had? No, he knew the answer. It was the bandages, and the very obvious scarring that must be behind them. And he honestly couldn't say that it was impossible, because boys younger than him had gone to fight in the war. That's what happens when your whole military keeps dying because the war has been going on for too long.

And technically, maybe he had been at war. A war to get his father to like him. To get his father to be proud of him.

(And he had lost.)

He shook his head. "I'm not going to war. I'm leaving the Fire Nation."

He didn't say that he desperately didn't want to leave. That he would do _anything_ to be allowed to stay. That all he wanted was for things to go back to the way they were, before. Before, when his mother was still with them. Before, when Azulon was still Fire Lord and father couldn't just banish him.

Before, when somebody _wanted_ him.

She tilted her head. "That's okay, too. My mother says running away is always a good option."

Zuko kept in the words that wanted to leave his throat. He wasn't running away. He was being chased away. There was a difference.

He growled, and walked away. Leaving the alley was easy, but orienting himself was harder, when everything was so identical. He frowned and tried his best to make out where he was, but he couldn't recognize it. If he went to the market he would at least have an idea of where to go, what with all the stalls selling different things, but he didn't even know how to get back there.

"Where are you going?"

"To the market."

He heard her hum. "I'll take you there."

Zuko found himself following her, knowing full well that he had no better option.

Soon, after walking through many, many alleys rather than any proper streets, they arrived back at the marketplace. Zuko scowled and let go of the girl's hand, ignoring the pouting look that she gave him in response. He stalked through the streets and passed the many stalls, looking them over until he saw some that he recognized.

He stopped walking when he realized that he could find his own way back. Scowling, he turned to face the girl. "Here." he said and held out a silver coin bearing the national emblem.

"For me?" she asked, almost stuttering.

Zuko scowled harder. "I am not dishonorable."

She gripped the coin harshly, her fist curling tightly around it and breathed out, "Thank you."

Zuko nodded. "Good. Then I'm going now. Good day."

He felt like slapping himself. Where were his social skills? He was a prince, he was supposed to be smoother than this!

He nodded to her again and walked away. Soon, he was back at the path where they had entered, a forest waiting for him. He could see the footsteps of his uncle and lieutenant Jee, and breathed out in relief knowing he was going in the right direction. Soon, he was back at the ship where his worried uncle waited anxiously for him.

He didn't give the village any more thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Zuko stared out at the ocean. The sharp tang of salt and fish filled his nose, almost suffocating him with the strong smell. Even after nearly three weeks of sailing, he still wasn't used to the funny little tingling sensation the smell caused in his nostrils. As if it knew what he was thinking about, he sniffed and took a deep breath, keeping the air trapped in his mouth as he contained the undignified urge to sneeze.

Because the universe hated him, his uncle took this moment to emerge from under the deck and come over to Zuko. Unfortunately, the urge to sneeze was still strong, so his uncle very predictably walked over and smiled, delighted. "Nephew! Look at your puffy cheeks, are you trying to imitate one of those animals we saw on the island?"

Zuko shook his head harshly and glared back at his uncle.

Uncle Iroh's hand fell on his back, patting it multiple times in quick succession before Zuko managed to tear himself away. "Now, now, don't be like that!"

Losing the battle, Zuko abruptly sneezed. Iroh looked startled for a moment before he burst out laughing. Zuko scowled and used his sleeve to rub at his nose, getting snot all over it. Disgusted, he clicked his tongue and turned away from his uncle. It had been a week since they left the last island and they were scheduled to make another pitstop to pick up more supplies soon. In the distance, Zuko could vaguely make out a formless mass over the horizon. His stomach squirmed unpleasantly at the idea of stopping there.

They were still technically in Fire Nation waters. It would take another few days to enter the colony waters. Though he wasn't really allowed there either, the punishment for getting caught was lighter there. And as the famed Dragon of the West, his uncle had plenty of contacts in the colonies.

"We can make it without getting more supplies," Zuko stated harshly.

His uncle scratched his neck and answered, "We could. But it would take a toll."

Zuko scowled. He shook his head and stalked off back to his room, settling himself down in front of the desk. The candles stood unlit and slowly, Zuko lit them one after one. Then he closed his eyes, sitting in the lotus position, and started breathing.

He could feel it when the candles started following his breaths.

Keeping his breathing steady, Zuko did his best to throw out all of his thoughts, calm his mind and just relax. But no matter how many times he breathed, or how many times he managed to force his thoughts into the kind of quiet numbness that Iroh insisted was meditation, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking. His thought went to his sister, to the palace maids and guards, to his mother, and lastly, to his father. It made his stomach churn unpleasantly, thoughts of what his father was doing right now.

The sun was starting to set; Zuko could feel it in his bones. His body got heavier as he could no longer rely on the sun for support, and he gave up on his mediation. Clearly, it was doing no-one any good. Opening his eyes, he saw the flames settle into the listless fluttering that came from a lack of control. He slowly moved his legs out of the straining position and pushed his way to his feet. A quick stumble as his legs got readjusted to having blood flowing through them, and he reluctantly admitted that he was hungry and he should go get something to eat.

Otherwise, his uncle would come bearing a tray full of food in the middle of the night, waking Zuko up and refusing to leave until Zuko had eaten every last bit of the meal. And that was annoying, so Zuko would simply make sure that his uncle had no chance to do that. By going to the mess hall and getting his meal himself.

Before he left his room, he took a moment to adjust his tail and make sure that it was sitting right. With most of his hair cut off, it was annoyingly thin and sometimes slipped out, just because his hair was so silky that there wasn't enough bulk to carry its weight. Uncle insisted that it was absolutely not the fault of the hair products he forced Zuko to use every time that he washed his hair, but Zuko was not so foolish as to believe him.

It was definitely his uncle's fault.

Nodding to himself, Zuko locked the door to his cabin behind him as he left the room, the candles put out because he wasn't an _idiot_ and also he was sick of his uncle's lectures. So what if he left the candles burning while he went to the toilet? There were plenty of firebenders onboard who could deal with any potential fires, weren't there? And maybe it was the middle of the night and they were all asleep, but they're soldiers, getting up in the middle of the night to deal with a life-threatening event should be well within their training, right? So then what was the problem?

His uncle didn't agree.

Zuko sighed.

When he reached the kitchen, he stood uneasily by the door for a bit. He could hear the chef talking to himself, mumbling words under his breath. Zuko was a _prince_, he wasn't going to react to the words bordering on treason, because he was exiled — banished (was there even a difference?) — and he knew the importance of keeping quiet.

But his stomach was cramping and he had to announce his presence before it started growling with hunger, revealing his position and giving the cook the impression that Zuko had been _eavesdropping_. Zuko wasn't eavesdropping; this was _his_ship, he could go wherever he wanted! But he was aware that that wasn't how everyone saw it, and the illusion of privacy was important for the mental well-being of ones subordinates.

So Zuko scuffed his foot against the metal floor and the loud sound echoed in the limited space. The cook swore and Zuko counted to three before he barged into the kitchen, his feet heavy on the floor and with his back straight.

"I've come for dinner, cook!" he announced in a strong voice, commanding the chef to make dinner for him through his mere presence. The cook, a short, bald man with a long white beard that reminded Zuko of his uncle, swerved around on his heel to face Zuko. He's eyes shot between Zuko and the door, obviously wondering if Zuko had heard his idle comments, before he tried to smile. Try, being the keyword. Zuko had lived with Azula for years; he didn't trust that smile for a second.

"Dinner's not for an hour, Prince Zuko," the cook said.

Zuko's eyebrow twitched. "I am the Prince," he said, "if I want to eat my dinner now, I can."

"Ehm, well, you see, the esteemed Dragon of the West, that is, your honorable uncle, has, uhm, _declaredthatyou'lleatwiththecrewinthemesshall_," the cook said the last few words so quickly that it took Zuko a minute to parse through them and decode what he was saying. When he did, his whole body twitched and he scowled fiercely, a feeling of betrayal curling in his belly.

"Did he?" Zuko spat out. Smoke drifted around his hands.

The cook nodded and took a weary step back, his eyes stuck on Zuko's smoldering hands. "That's right. It was, uhm, his decision."

Zuko clenched his hands together and smothered the smoke. He took a controlling breath—it felt like that was all he ever did—and took a step toward the cook. Frowning, he said, "Well, I'm telling you to make my dinner now. I'll eat it in my room."

The cook held his breath, his face quickly turning red. Then he shook his head harshly with his eyes clenched shut and squeezed out, "No, sir. Prince Iroh, ehm, outranks you."

Zuko glared at him. He took another step toward him and held up his hands. "Are you saying you won't feed me?" he demanded. His hands trembled as he held them up in front of himself, in between them, and he viciously ignored it.

Zuko was weak. He was weak and stupid and impulsive and that was what had gotten him stuck on this ship in the first place. With a crew that was made up of the least valuable, of the most disposable, of the most useless and troublesome people. Because of this, his uncle had been dragged into banishment with him, because Zuko had to stand up for those soldiers. Because he hadn't been able to just do as he should; shut up and obey the Fire Lord.

Bile threatened to creep up his throat and he dragged in a ragged breath. Flames formed around his palms and he grimaced, "You will do as I say._ I_ am the Captain of this ship."

The cook stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet. "Pri-Prince Zuko," he said and held up his hands by his head. It didn't look like he was going to change his mind. Zuko moved his weight to the heels of his feet and prepared to—

"Prince Zuko!" Iroh yelled.

Zuko's flames spluttered out. He turned around and saw his uncle standing in the doorway, a devastated look on his face. "What are you _doing_, nephew?" Iroh asked, his hand on the doorframe like he needed its support.

Zuko took an automatic step back. He shook his head, "He said he won't give me food," he defended himself.

Iroh let go of the doorframe and stepped into the kitchen, his feet heavy on the floor. It felt like Zuko could hear the steps all the way to his bones. He angled his head down and stared stubbornly at the ground, keeping himself still and ready to make a move. He would defend himself. He would. If his uncle tried to hurt him, Zuko wouldn't react like during the—he wouldn't just stay still and wait for it. Better to stand his ground.

"Prince Zuko," Iroh's hands landed on Zuko's shoulders and squeezed them tightly. Zuko flinched. He waited, breathlessly, for his uncle to— "Nephew. I am not going to hurt you. I simply want to know why you felt it necessary to resort to force."

"He said he won't give me dinner," Zuko said again.

His uncle sighed. "I am sure that he said he will feed you with the rest of the crew, in the mess hall. Right?"

After a moment of silence, Zuko gave a single sharp nod. He... did hear that. But what prince would eat with the crew? What prince would eat in the mess hall with the peasants? Peasants who were honored to be on the same ship as Zuko, honored to be in the crew of a prince. It was a life-time opportunity for them, a chance to serve their nation with diligence and a sense of duty. They were on the hunt for the _Avatar_.

"Then why did you want to attack him?" Iroh asked, his voice soft and so full of disappointment Zuko felt _nauseous_.

Zuko steeled his nerves and said, "A prince can't eat together with the crew." He peeked up through his eyelashes and saw Iroh frown, like he didn't understand. Zuko said, "Azula would never do that."

He was being hugged. Zuko's eyes widened and he held his breath out of reflex. When nothing hurt, he furrowed his brows and looked over Iroh's shoulder. The cook was trying to sneak out the door, and had seemingly been just as startled as Zuko, staring at them fixedly. Zuko glared at him the best he could with his whole body locked in his uncle's warm embrace. The cook started and backed away again, successfully leaving the kitchen this time.

"It's alright, Zuko," his uncle whispered into Zuko's shoulder. "I am not mad."

Zuko sighed exaggeratedly and muttered, "I didn't think you were."

His uncle let out a bark of laughter. His arms tightened briefly around Zuko's body before he eased up and stepped back. His hands shifted back to Zuko's shoulders and he stared Zuko right in the eyes. "There is nothing wrong with a prince eating in the mess hall together with their crew. In fact, I can argue it's good. It fosters a sense of camaraderie and gives the crew a chance to see that you're human too. It'll make them like you more, Zuko," Iroh said the last with a teasing grin.

Zuko frowned. He pushed his uncle's hands off of him and stepped back. Scowling, he looked at the wall beside his uncle and said, "I don't need them to like me."

"Don't you think it would make things easier, if they did?" uncle asked. "For example, if Umu likes you, he might agree to let you eat in your room."

"Who's Umu?"

"The cook."

"Whatever," Zuko said. He shrugged his shoulders. "Fine," he spat out. "I'll eat there. But only _once_."

"Thank you, nephew. I'll let the others now to expect you," Iroh beamed at him and immediately left, humming as he went. Zuko looked after him until his uncle's back disappeared into the darkness. Then he sighed and lifted his hands, pressing them over his eyes. He closed his eyes and winced.

(He was _so stupid._)

(Why didn't he have any self-control? Why did he keep _disappointing his uncle?)_

Fine then. Zuko would go the mess hall in an hour and eat his dinner with the crew. Then uncle would see why it was obviously a bad idea and he could give up on this ludicrous plan of his. He would get definitive proof that Zuko didn't fit with these people and stop badgering him to socialize with them, like that was something royalty just did. Just because uncle liked music nights and playing games with them and asking about their families, didn't mean that Zuko had a place here. His place was at the Fire Nation capital, where his sister was, where his father was. not on some rusted ship sailing out of Fire Nation waters.

His fist fell on the workbench. It made a loud bang and flinched from the sudden noise, even though he had been the one to cause it. Scowling harshly, he pulled on his high ponytail and left the kitchen. Stalking through the hallways, his feet hit the floor with heavy thuds. He threw open the door to his room and banged it shut behind himself, locking it smoothly. This way, he would be alone until this dinner he had let his uncle talk him into.

Throwing himself on the bed, Zuko groaned into the disordered covers. The sheets weren't even soft, they were rough and scratchy, the mass-produced stuff that got sent to the ships with no important people. Zuko had thought that at least his uncle would have the soft silky ones, but when he snuck into his uncle's room and felt the sheets, they were as rough as Zuko's own. Groaning louder, he rolled around on the bed and flopped his limbs out as far as they could go, spreading out like starfish. He stared up at the ceiling and the candles along the wall lit up all at once.

With a breath, he took control of the flames. Then he let it go. The flames quickly settled down into small, flickering lights that didn't light up much by his bed. His eye stared up at the ceiling again, and he pressed his left hand over the gauze around his head and over his eye. Pressing down harshly, he was rewarded with a stinging sensation, and he cursed. Quickly, he removed his hand and instead pressed it against his stomach.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to rest.

If he fell asleep and accidentally missed the dinner, it would be a blessing in disguise. Uncle probably wouldn't even blame him for it. He might force Zuko to go to another dinner another evening, but Zuko would leave that problem to an older, more experienced version of himself.

Future Zuko could deal with it.

Regulating his breathing, Zuko kept his eyes closed and his hands crossed over his stomach as he drifted off to sleep.

_Damn you, Past Zuko._

Bolting up on his bed, Zuko stared with wild eyes at the door. His uncle's voice came from the other side, "Nephew, it's time for dinner! I thought I'd remind you, so you're not late."

Cursing to himself, Zuko rolled out of the bed and landed on his feet by its side. He stalked across the room and pulled the door open, scowling up at his uncle. Iroh beamed back at him, not the least bit discouraged by Zuko's attitude. Zuko scuffed his foot abasing the doorframe and shrugged his shoulders. There was really no getting out of this, was there? His uncle was too prepared, too well-used to Zuko's habits. "Let's go, then," Zuko growled out.

Iroh stepped back so that Zuko could exit his room and together, they walked through the ship to the mess hall. The dark hallways and the echoes of their steps together with the flickering light of the lamps combined to form an atmosphere that reminded Zuko of the spirit tales his mother would tell him.

He bit down on his lip and determinedly _stopped thinking about it._

It was of no consequence.

When they reached the mess hall, Iroh moved so that he stood behind Zuko, preventing Zuko from running away. Scowling all the while, Zuko stepped in through the doorway and ignored all the looks that he immediately received from the crew members in attendance. For a tense moment, they stopped whatever they were doing, talking, eating, or just sitting in the corner. Because he was a prince and he was above this—this—this _weakness_ that made him freeze when they all looked at him, like they could see the scar under his bandages, even though none of them had ever so much as caught a glimpse of it before, Zuko walked over to a table in the corner and sat down.

"Well," he said when nothing happened. "Where's the food?"

"Ehm, Prince Zuko, sir, you get the food, uhm, yourself," the cook meekly said, his voice getting lower with every word. Feeling warmth flood his cheeks, Zuko swiftly stood and headed over to a table that had been on his blind-side when he first entered; there were pots of food on it and plates sitting in a pile at the corner.

Carelessly grabbing a plate, he lugged it over to the closest pot and started heaving food on the plate without putting much thought into what he was getting himself into. There wouldn't be poison or anything in there, right? No, there wouldn't be. No matter how dissatisfied they were to serve aboard the ship of a banished prince that couldn't return to his country until he found the Avatar, and as such neither could they, they wouldn't poison him. Even banished, killing him would still beget punishment.

Wouldn't it?

Walking back to the table, he sat down his plate on it with more force than was necessary. Sitting down, he scowled out at the rest of the people in the mess hall. His uncle was hauntingly in the middle of getting food and sauntered happily over to Zuko's table, sitting down across from him with a wave to the crew. They startled and finally turned away from just staring at Zuko.

Biting down on his food, Zuko ignored them. He pretended like he couldn't hear his uncle singing the cook's praises, and acted like he had no idea of the crew gossiping about him. Determinedly, he shut out all of the comments and speculations being made about his scar and why he was banished—why he was stuck here and unable to go home.

When he was finally done, he pushed the plate away from himself and stood from his seat. For a second, he breathed out a gust of smoke as he stared at his uncle, who was still happily eating, then he shook his head and turned. He stalked toward the door and it was only his good manners—that had been taught to him by his mother, and he couldn't disappoint her—that made him stop in front of the cook. The cook was sittin at a table in the in middle of the mess hall, together with two other guys were staring increasingly blatantly at Zuko as he got closer. Zuko shot them a glare, then ignored them and faced the cook. "Thank you for the meal," he growled out, his hands itching for his swords.

The swords were stolen, but they were still _his_. If there was anything he'd learned from Azula and her games, it was that stealing wasn't stealing as long as you were the first person to announce it was _yours_.

The cook started and leaned back from him. He gulped and looked to his two crew-mates for help. When no such help came, he turned his body toward Zuko and bowed formally. "Thank you for your, uhm, kind words, Prince Zuko, ehm, sir."

Zuko's eyes twitched, but he let it pass.

"I'll eat in my room from now on," Zuko stated. He glared down at the sitting cook and waited for the old man to say something. The man's eyes went to the floor and he wrung his hands in front of himself, obviously not sure what to say. Zuko scowled and took a threatening step forward, the idea of being forced to eat here—with everyone staring at him the whole time—every day making his skin crawl.

"Uhm, but, ehm," the cook took a deep breath and the crew mate sitting next to him patted him gently on the shoulder. The old cook finally squeezed out, "Orders are orders!"

Zuko glared harshly at him, smoke curling around his clenched hands, his shoulders tense and drawn up, his heart beating a mile minute, his breath trembling in his lungs as he was filled with the urge to—he couldn't eat here. He couldn't. They were all staring at him. Maybe they didn't know everything, but they knew enough. They knew that he was banished, forbidden from returning home. They knew that his only hope was to find the Avatar, a person that hadn't been so much as _seen_ in one-hundred years. They knew that they ship was the worst one in the navy. They knew that the crew was made up of the worst of worst, that being here was a punishment because they weren't useful or loyal enough.

Hearing his uncle's footsteps approaching, Zuko took a step back but continued, stubbornly, to stare at the disobedient cook. His uncle stepped up next to him and his mere presence diffused the situation, the tension seeping out of Zuko's shoulders. He took another step back.

"I'm sure we can come to an agreement," Iroh said genially. "How about this, why don't Zuko eat here with the rest of the crew two evenings of the week, and the rest of the time, he can eat in his room?"

"Uncle—"

"Nephew, it is a compromise. Any good leader needs to know how and when to compromise."

Zuko scoffed and turned his head away, grimacing at the rest of the crew that was once again back to staring at him. Didn't they have anything else to do? Weren't they here to eat?

The cook said, "That, that's fine, uhm, sir."

"See, nephew?" Uncle's arm bumped against Zuko's and Zuko twitched, turning his back and staring at the old man that his uncle had somehow become. "This is fine, right?"

Zuko turned his head away. He gave one short nod and then he started walking, leaving the kitchen as quickly as he could. He ignored his uncle's calls behind him and returned to his room, locking the door behind himself. Sliding down to the floor, he rested his head on his hands.


End file.
